


basic heart

by hingabee



Series: basic ____ [7]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Dissociation, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, M/M, Medical Trauma, Military Conflicts, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Separations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28980117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee
Summary: "They stay like that for a while with no words between them, just their minds entangled - like on the first day they met, curious and terrified and searching. Their connection is a blank slate again, vague goals drifting through their shared consciousness and bubbling into targets, ideas and inspiration like so many times before.Only this time, in mutual agreement, they do not align with each other."picks up right at the end of basic mind. crimes and war do not leave a man unaffected, so lets figure out where it leads them
Relationships: Liquid Snake/Psycho Mantis
Series: basic ____ [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/923181
Comments: 20
Kudos: 9





	1. still standing

**Author's Note:**

> its been a long time coming...
> 
> this will cover the period up until foxhound, and even a little bit into it which means that much more beloved characters will join us
> 
> thank you everyone for the support and motivation to start this up, you know who you are :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mantis is in pain, eli is still standing

The sun is up by the time he comes to again, blinding his sticky eyes as it glowers above them, that fat and golden orb reigning over the open sky. For a moment, barely conscious, there is an overwhelming fear of loneliness overrunning his mind - the vast sea of blue above him stretches through his field of view and there is nothing, not a single cloud, no bird, just angry heat oppressively glaring down at him.  
  
Maybe that is all there is; a pathetic, rotten creature. But just as he accepts his fate, the path he has paved for himself, the sky stops spiraling and the jeep comes to a halt.  
  
_Oh._

"Hey," Eli's voice feels like honey running down a sore throat. "how're you holding up...?"

A gloved hand brushes back a few messy uneven curls from his forehead. He relishes the touch, anxiety dissipating in seconds. He feels feverish now, trying to lean up to look at his gleaming saving grace, fingers searching for purchase on the rough leather of the backseat, slipping and failing.  
  
"Shit, Mantis. You lost quite a bit of blood - here have some water. We're almost out though, so you might want to ration it until we arrive in town."  
  
His eyes widen a little as Eli presses a canteen against his split lips - the water is lukewarm and a little stale, though it tastes like an ice cold mountain spring with the desert air hot against his skin. Thick droplets spill down his chin and run down into his collar as he strenuously takes sips from the flask - Eli curses and adjusts his grip, pressing his free hand against the back of Mantis' head to help him drink more easily.  
  
"Eli‒" Mantis rasps but stops because his voice is hollow and empty, no sound to it but the air of a dying man. 

"We're almost there, just lie back and try not to move so much, alright?"  
  
Nodding, Mantis dazedly watches Eli get back into the driver's seat and clutches the canteen to his chest. 

_Where are we going?_ He thinks, too scared to speak out loud. _It hurts._

"Mosul. Damn, I really hope Naseer doesn't slam the door in my face..."  
  
Mantis is mildly confused, but too exhausted and volatile to dig into Eli's mind all too deeply - he is not even sure If at this point he would even be able to. All he notes is leftover euphoria still coursing between them like a pack of feral animals, a hint of fear and shame.  
  
When they stop again he is barely conscious. The sounds of the city are far away as if they were rolling off the shell of his ear dripping thickly into the sand, but he can make out Eli's movements - getting out of the car and approaching a small building, a slight limp in his step.  
  
As if for emphasis, he feels the echo of a stinging pain in his ribs and touches his hand to where his friend had gotten hurt earlier, but instead of letting the sensation overwhelm him the sheer stubbornness radiating off Eli makes him draw back into himself.  
  


* * *

  
"Listen, I did what I could for you but you need to take him to a proper hospital, Lawrence. Also, sit _down_ , you shouldn't put so much strain on your lungs yet." The smell of cigarettes filled the air. "Don't give me that look. I can't believe I'm even surprised you came back to Iraq after I warned you to stay away."  
  
"It's not like I had much of a choice with those bastards still running free! You'd understand if you had to deal with what I've been through, bloody nightmares and all that!"  
  
"I _told_ you to go back to England and leave all of this behind - get a wife and make some children. Buy a house and have a semi-normal, boring white-bread life. And then not even a year later you show up at my clinic covered in blood, dragging an FBI fugitive in with you. You're a fucking idot, Lawrence."  
  
Eli bristles and opens his mouth to object, but steps away when he notices Mantis' watching him with one bleary eye cracked open.   
  
_Lawrence? Is that not the civilian name you chose when you joined the army?_

"He's awake..." Crouching down next to the cot Mantis finds himself on, Eli checks his pulse and temperature. He is shirtless and despite his own discomfort Mantis tries to reach out to touch the bandage covering part of Eli's chest, frowning deeply.  
  
"Well, that's good news. Honestly with how fucking skinny he is I would've expected him to not wake up at all." Another man steps into his limited vision, arms crossed, clad in scrubs and a white coat with bloody stains on it. "Where did you pick this guy up anyway?"  
  
"Afghanistan..." Eli mumbles absentmindedly, pointedly ignoring the other man lowering his glasses sceptically. "Naseer, go get me the gas mask from my trunk. _Please_."   
  
Naseer just scoffs and disappears, Mantis can feel the slight buzz of his mind, still too weak to gather any applicable information about him, but satisfied enough with the fact that he doesn't seem to pose any danger to them, even holding some sympathies for Eli.  
  
_Who is that man?_ Mantis thinks and tries to sit up only to be stopped by a strong hand against his shoulder.  
  
Eli grimaces. "An old friend. He fixed us up, you were hurt pretty badly, though. But I think it'll be fine... you look much better already now that you have the IV."  
  
Mantis eyes wander to his wrist and to his surprise he does not really panic at the sight of the intravenous access valve, a stark pink plastic against the tight bandage. His right side still hurts slightly, but the pain in his leg is barely noticeable - he tries to peek down at himself, briefly worried if the leg is still _there_. His clothes are gone, though someone must have graciously propped him into one of Eli's old shirts after tending to his injuries. He is practically drowning in it. 

"The bullet in your leg went clean through, but the one up here" Eli hovers his hand over his flank. "Naseer had to remove it. God knows you're lucky it didn't hit your liver."  
  
_You are upset..._  
  
"Of course I'm bloody upset you twit, you almost could've gotten yourself _killed_! There was no need for that, why didn't you just retreat or deflect or whatever it is you usually do‒"

 _I was... weak. I lost control. I should have protected you..._  
  
Eli makes a face, rubs his temples and sits back on his heels. "It's _fine_. It's all fine now, I'm finished with that."  
  
And it is the truth, all that adrenaline drained from their aching bodies leaves them awfully hollow - Mantis lost in his own terrifying mind, barely able to reach out to Eli at all. An odd feeling spreads through them, the aimless dread of a lack of violence, since there are impulses, fears, desires - but no clear goals. No purpose.  
  
"Ya know, I don't really get the mask thing. Like, I'm pretty sure that wearing it for too long eventually prevents oxygen from reaching your brain." Naseer drawls as he enters the room, stopping next to them to hold out the mask to Mantis. "Nice to meet you, now that you're conscious - the name's Naseer Jones."  
  
Mantis nods weakly and tries to take the mask from him, but Eli is quicker and grabs it, carefully strapping it back on to Mantis' head.  
  
He breathes a sigh of relief.  
  
"Man, I'm sure those scars must be bothering you, buddy, but modern plastic surgery has really made advancements in the past decade. At least get those old stitches removed, I'm sure you could arrange something‒"  
  
"Will you shut it? He needs to rest!" Eli hisses, clearly upset, not ashamed but slightly annoyed over his connection to Mantis.  
  
Naseer shrugs and lights another cigarette. "Oh, sure, I agree. But you two can't stay here. I'm not taking any risks, so you'd better start figuring something out before morning. It should be fine to move him if you're careful, as long as you don't tie any more tourniquets around his leg."  
  
"He was _bleeding_ everywhere!"

"I don't know where the fuck they taught you first aid, but he could've lost his leg. Thank _god_ you did a piss-poor job at it, with how long you drove him through the desert it'd have become ischaemic if it had been any tighter."

Eli glares at him. "I don't even know what the hell that means!"  
  
After that exchange Mantis drifts off again, barely noticing how the bickering dies down after a while. But comfortable behind the confines of his mask, he picks up little bits here and there; from spoken words or unguarded thoughts - a welcome distraction from his pain, his fears.  
Inbetween the human interactions, however, Mantis notes traces of more simple minds around him - it is hard to grasp them firmly enough to understand, but they are much more unguarded than those of human beings.  
  
This is how he finds out that Eli has taken him to an animal clinic, that Naseer is not a real doctor but a veterinarian, mostly tending to livestock like goats, sheep and bovines on site, though there are some kurdish race horses and draught Arabians in the little stable adjacent to the clinic. The odd, bubbly nature of a few dogs spills over to him from the next room and he smiles brightly behind his mask, through their fragile excitement in his delirium.  
  
Occasionally Eli says his name - or at least _thinks_ it- and Mantis wakes briefly to watch an adjustment to his IV as Eli brushes his sweaty, greasy hair out of his eyes for him before eventually dozing off himself.  
  
Before the sun is even up they are on their way; Mantis is still drowsy and high on painkillers as Eli helps him sit up and Naseer removes the IV port which makes him grimace.  
  
"I packed you some medical supplies, be sure to change the bandages and give him some of the meds if he's complaining. You can remove the stitches in a week or two, don't keep them in any longer than necessary."  
  
"Is it even safe for him to take that much morphine...?" Eli worries out loud while they steady Mantis as he stands on shaking legs, vision quickly turning blurry and unfocused, nausea rising in his chest. "I understand he's in pain, but I'd prefer for him not to get addicted."

Naseer scoffs. "It's meperidine. And this is the amount I'd usually administer to a _cat_ , if he doesn't take it for much longer than a few days he shouldn't have any adverse effects aside from, like, constipation and the typical depressant blues. If anything, he might just act a little drunk."   
  
Mantis leans into them as they walk, slowly, down the hall and out of the building - the night air is freezing cold and after he gets propped up in the backseat of their jeep he is wrapped in a blanket and Eli's jacket. He whines low in his throat, too tired and exhausted to voice his discomfort further.  
  
"You have money right? Stay at a hotel until he can walk by himself and then get the hell out of here. The Kurds are bashing each other's heads in all around us and last month Baghdad sent a crap-ton of troops out to the Kuwaiti border because they're mighty pissed about the UN sanctions. Shit's going down soon."  
  
"Naseer, thank you for helping us, I really appreciate it. But I'm not going anywhere." Eli slides behind the wheel and smirks at him.  
  
"I can't believe I saved your ass twice now, Lawrence. You're really too stupid for your own good." Naseer sighs and rubs his eyes. "... at least promise me not to get captured by anyone this time."  
  
"Damn sure, never again..." Eli mumbles darkly and starts the engine, Mantis raises his hand weakly to wave at Naseer and just like that they drive off into the night.  
  
More lucid now, Mantis curiously ventures into Eli's head, pulling the blanket further over his head because of the strong wind. His emotions are not quite unfamiliar, but that stubborn wall of defensiveness has always been difficult to break through and Eli is well aware of all the little ways used to dismantle his mental fortifications by now.  
  
"Stop it, you'll just give both of us a migraine. Get some more sleep."  
  
Mantis furrows his brow. _Then tell me. Where did you meet him?_  
  
"He was part of the American squad that recovered me." Eli sniffs, nose runny from the cold. "Before he joined the army he studied to become a veterinarian, though. He was the only one with basic medical knowledge during the extraction, patched me up until we reached the closest American base where the proper medics were waiting. I saw him a few times before I was stable enough to be transferred to England, he kept me from going insane with how insufferable he is."  
  
_They all treated you like a broken doll._ Mantis assesses. _He didn't._  
  
Eli just nods in the dark, not just aimless in the deeper sense, but cautiously scouring the streets for a place to stay that does not have military vehicles parked in front of it. Eventually he speeds up, leaving more and more buildings to be replaced by ruins as they pass by.  
  
"Poor sod. Must've been tough growing up here with an American father..."  
  
_... Eli? Are we leaving the city?_  
  
Rummaging around in the side of the car door, Eli produces a tape and shoves it into the dashboard player. As they cross into the outskirts of Mosul, Elton John's "I'm Still Standing" starts echoing through rubble and fields filled with debris.  
  
"Eli?" Mantis says out loud, incredulously. _You can't be serious._  
  


"There's a small inn in Bartella, it's just a few minute drive, so relax. I'd rather not stay in the city." Eli replies over his shoulder and then returns to singing along to the metallic blare of the music.  
  
Shaking his head, Mantis clutches the blanket tighter around himself, gritting his teeth at the pain that shoots up his side like lightning. It has never been this bad before, he thinks to himself, mild panic overwhelming him again - that excruciating, desolate feeling taking root inside of his head.  
  
" _And if you need to know while I'm still standing, you just fade away~_ "   
  
There's euphoria masking the unspeakable dread around him and Mantis would laugh at Eli's instinctual way of subsisting, if it was not so deeply unsettling to him.   
  
" _I'm still standing after all this time! Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind~_ "

He is sure he does not fall asleep again, yet somehow, despite being fully conscious he suddenly raises his head to see Eli standing next to the parked jeep, no music, no singing, no fear inside of him. Maybe he is staring, eyes wide, because Eli grins at him and there is a twist of pity and affection between them that he can not attribute correctly.  
  
_When did we get here?_ Mantis asks, mildly disturbed by his apparent dissociation.  
  
"We just arrived. Christ, Mantis, you must be really out of it, huh?" Somehow Eli's voice is not _right_ , but he _is_. It is just the drugs. He has been hurt. He needs to calm down.

He hits a bed. A pillow. Eli's hands on him, fiery and ice cold. It feels like B̶e̶r̶l̶i̶n̶.̶ ̶W̶a̶s̶h̶i̶n̶g̶t̶o̶n̶.̶ ̶N̶e̶w̶ ̶Y̶o̶r̶k̶.̶ ̶B̶a̶g̶h̶d̶a̶d̶.̶ something new.  
  
Something distant.  
  
_It hurts really bad._  
  
"You should sleep it off, you can take your medicine in the morning."  
  
He whimpers, skin sensitive as Eli brushes over it to pull the musty duvet over his shivering frame. Mantis grabs him by the wrist.  
  
_We should go to England. Your friend is right._

Eli shakes him off, breath wet and uneven as he speaks. "No, I belong here. This is where I feel at home‒"  
  
_You feel at home in the **war**. It is not the land nor its people that keep you here._  
  
"I thought you'd know me better by now, Mantis." Eli laughs without warmth and Mantis instinctively clutches his bandaged injuries through his shirt. "But I suppose you're just too high, you can't even dig in my head."  
  
Helpless, extradited, surrendered is what he is as Eli stares down at him and in the dim light Mantis realises for the first time that his eyes gleam more green than blue.   
  
_Even if I could,_ he admits, _I do not think I would want to be in there with you right now._  
  
"It's been a rough few days. But I got what I wanted, didn't I? My very own jackal hunt..." Eli frowns, suddenly struck by self-realisation in his vulnerability. "...so why am I not happy, why can't I be bloody satisfied?"  
  
Mantis grip tightens on his wrist for a moment, but then eases up so Eli can undo the straps of his mask. _You can not ever advance if you do not leave the past behind. It is too fresh, too raw. If we leave and give it time then‒_  
  
"No." He says firmly. "You are just as lost, you are guilty of the same crimes as me."  
  
Calloused fingers press against the scars on his face, curious yet assertive. It feels like they should kiss, seal this adventure off with such an intimate gesture - their tragic, broken shadow play of romance coming to an appropriate conclusion.  
  
But neither of them wants to.  
  
Instead, Eli leans down, eyes closed, overcome by his accumulated exhaustion he presses his forehead against Mantis'.  
  
"When I was younger I thought I loved you," It is more than a hushed admission; it is an accusation. "I'm not so sure now..."  
  
Relishing their touch, Mantis smiles, licking his lips before he raises his broken voice. "I do not think men like us are capable of love, Eli."  
  
They stay like that for a while with no words between them, just their minds entangled - like on the first day they met, curious and terrified and searching. Their connection is a blank slate again, vague goals drifting through their shared consciousness and bubbling into targets, ideas and inspiration like so many times before.  
  
Only this time, in mutual agreement, they do not align with each other.  
  
When Mantis pulls away he looks up into the face of his father; a small and fragile child; the man with a mask not unlike his own; on fire; horned; a disgustingly comforting smirk; and finally the greasy and revolting features of Gerald Wilson.   
  
"Are you alright?" He asks, a slight chuckle adorning his words. "I don't think you should have any more drugs, agent. Do you?"  
  
" _What?_ " Mantis is so surprised he sits up suddenly, immediately pressing his hands against his burning side.  
  
"Christ, be careful!" Eli scolds him and maneuvers him back down. "I asked you if you're alright - your pupils are barely visible and you're acting... odd. You need rest, not more painkillers."  
  
_What about Wilson...?_ Mantis asks meekly as he closes his eyes, so desperately trying to acquiesce.   
  
"Wilson...? There's no Wilson, Mantis. He died. You killed him."  
  
He does not know if he cries out of relief, fear or pain - but with every fibre of his being he desperately tries to cling onto Eli's mind as he slips away again, held in the arms of the man he fears and adores the most of all.   


* * *

  
The hazy memory of the night melts into a mellow morning. Mantis gets to eat for the first time in days - flatbread with goat's butter and milk and dates on the side - and he wolfs it down until his stomach hurts so bad he cannot move anymore.  
  
Eli makes a few calls, speaks a lot in Arabic and Mantis does not even bother prying - they have come to a consensus, a reluctant plan that leaves them both terribly dissatisfied.  
  
"Ocelot said he'd arrange something for you. Do you think you will stay with him?" Eli asks and sits on the edge of the bed.  
  
_I'm not sure,_ he muses behind his mask, because speaking out loud hurts again. _I doubt that he will want me around._  
  
Sighing in agreement, Eli leans into his space to check his bandages, then decides to change them. When he sees Mantis writhe and wince through gritted teeth, he even fills the meperidine lid with the syrup and pushes it against Mantis' lips, despite earlier complaints.   
  
"We still have a few days left until then, though." Admirably, Eli tries for a smile. "I won't leave you until you're healed up enough to travel."  
  
_I know, Eli._ Mantis thinks and smiles back.

They spend a while in comfortable company, trying to interpret the intricate embroideries on the wall and giggling over the many exciting things they surely will accomplish when seperated, a nostalgic mania overcoming them. Then the medicine finally hits and Mantis drifts away again, pairs of watchful eyes guarding him in his deranged slumber.  
  



	2. cats in the cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eli says goodbye, mantis craves

The time until Ocelot's arrival flies by in a haze of pain and boredom, though the medicine helps a lot, and Mantis silently thanks Naseer for packing almost two weeks worth of the stuff, though he has to play it low when Eli is with him.  
  
Still, despite his recovery he is mostly out of it during the days - November is cold even around Mosul and he spends his time bunched up in blissful dissociation, chewing absentmindedly on sticky sweets and desserts Eli brings back from his trips into town. Considering everything that has happened things could be worse between them, though it is as if they both are pretending that nothing has changed and Mantis honestly prefers it that way.  
  
"You need to wash up, you stink." Eli comments dryly when he leans over him to clean up the little nest of candy wrappers and dishes that has accumulated next to the pillows.  
  
"Mh."  
  
"What? He'll be here soon. Get up."  
  
Mantis blinks in surprise, eyes trying to focus. "Today?" His voice is still raw.  
  
"I told you he'd be here on Thursday. Now, don't give me that look - it's not my fault you've been holed up in bed and forgot what day it is."  
  
"I've been in pain..." Mantis grouses.  
  
"You've been on _drugs_ ."  
  
There is no room for argument here, Eli is right, technically, though Mantis would rather die than admit that he has been taking more than he should. It _helps_ . With the restlessness, the anxiety, his own suffocating thoughts. He finally is able to get some peace; the world around him has always been too loud, but nowadays his mind is no sufficient retreat either.  
  
And the pain. The medicine quells that too. The first few times he had to go to the bathroom he still had to be steadied, now he walks with a crutch that Eli has gotten ahold of somewhere in Mosul. The issues with his leg are barely as troubling as the wound on the side of his stomach, though - whenever he tries to just sit upright a thousand little blades shoot up into his ribs and Mantis readily reaches for the steadily depleting contents of the meperidine bottle.  
  
However, the slip and slide of the sedative effect keeps him tied to his bed, there is no reason to get up, really. Even if Eli tries to motivate him listlessly, at least for a while.  
  
Occasionally, at night, Wilson stops by, but Mantis is too out of it to pay any significant attention to him and just laughs silently to himself in the dark, fingers twitching excitedly. Dreams spent awake are clouded by scents, eerie noises and endless complaints from Eli - but that is alright, Mantis decides. Because his friend is _oh_ , so worried about him and only gets more and more frustrated by his feeble, mindless giggling. Time between them slips back and forth, and while he knows he is expecting _something_ he keeps forgetting what, unable to grasp onto the idea long enough to understand it.  
  
" _He is coming."_ He whispers to the embroidered animals on the tapestries winding around him. " _He is coming today_ ."  
  
Eli's ice cold hand against the side of his face drives him out of this little menagerie, Mantis flinches and snaps his head away, eyes so wide it hurts.  
  
"...you've got a fever." Eli assesses and sounds crestfallen and far away next to him.  
  
"Is he actually surprised about that?" Wilson comments dryly from where he is lounging at the end of the bed. "Does he know you keep picking at your injuries?"  
  
Mantis throws a pillow at him and curses loudly. Wilson cackles and disappears. Eli just stares at him for a second - his eyes a washed out, bleak swamp - then has to turn away, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
"I've got some panadol in my luggage somewhere. At least let me clean you up a little and change your bandages again, if your wounds are infected I'll have Ocelot send you to a hospital right away."  
  
Mantis whines lightly, enjoying the feeling of his tongue pressed up against the roof of his mouth, moving on to lick Eli's fingers when a few pills are pressed against his lips, followed by a cup of lukewarm tea.  
  
"You're drooling." Eli points out - his frustration eventually has been replaced by resignation - and wipes Mantis' mouth for him.  
  
He nods off again, knows Eli is unhappy with the state he is in; with him. That in itself is fine, he decides, but it still gnaws at him in his sleep until he jolts awake to the sounds of spurs.  
  
"I hope this is worth my time, I had to cancel quite a few of my plans in Seoul and Taipeh to come help you two idiots." Ocelot kneels down next to the bed, pulling the blanket off Mantis. "You owe me now, Eli."  
  
Eli scoffs at the use of his given name but sits down in the corner of the room, visibly exhausted. "Maybe it isn't as bad as it looks, I don't know. He is barely conscious though and keeps babbling - I'm pretty sure he's hallucinating."  
  
Ocelot perks up at that and grabs Mantis face, forcing him to focus on his own.  
  
"If he's only been on opioids for a few days, that shouldn't happen. Unless he's been taking extra." Ocelot leans in closer and Mantis silently hates himself for enjoying the nostalgic scent of his cologne. "That being said - _have_ you been taking more than you should, boy?"  
  
Mantis' eyes briefly flicker to Eli - who is watching them tiredly - then to the bottle of meperidine glowing on the nightstand and finally back to Ocelot.  
  
"No." He lies.  
  
Raising a brow, Ocelot lets go of him to check the bottle and the pack of panadol, briefly confirming with Eli that the meperidine had indeed been unopened when they had left for Bartella.

 _I am sorry._ Mantis thinks, not sure if he means it. _I am sorry, Eli._ _  
__  
__"_ Well, no more drugs for you, _malyshonok_ ."  
  
Without making a fuss, he lets Ocelot lift his shirt and check his injuries, desperately fidgeting with his hands in a sudden wave of anxiety.  
  
Eli leans forward. "And...?"  
  
"It's infected. He needs antibiotics. Either you've been doing a bad job at keeping him clean, or he's been messing with the bandages. If those stitches are anything to go by..." Ocelot looks Mantis in the eyes again and it makes his head hurt even worse. "Get me some soap water, we'll patch him up and I'll try to get him over the border without raising suspicion. I came in through Turkey, but he won't do well with a long drive like that."  
  
Eli aquisces and soon returns with water and a washcloth. For some reason Mantis does not feel any shame as the two men work on his naked body, even boldly going so far as nudging Eli with his good knee and offering him a lopsided grin.  
  
"If you leave through the Syrian border you can get to Qamishli Airport in about four hours."  
  
Ocelot nods. "Darn these no-fly zones, the UN sure is great at making the _dumbest_ smartest decisions humanly possible."  
  
They prop Mantis up on the bed, Eli helps him get dressed in one of his own shirts that hangs down Mantis' shoulders loosely - as not to put too much pressure on his injury - and then awkwardly ties a belt around his skinny frame to keep the equally oversized fatigue pants on his hips.  
  
Mantis supposes it is for the best he leaves this room, the awful desert. But Eli's solemn expression stirs a peculiar anger and despondency in him so he loops his arms around his neck and presses his face against Eli's skin wetly.  
  
"It is dark...?" He wonders meekly as he is carried out of the inn, Ocelot trailing closely behind them with Mantis' few belongings in tow.  
  
"We'd be mighty stupid to try this during the day, Mantis." Eli tells him.  
  
Ocelot's turkish rental car has an actual roof and Mantis is thankful for it as he is strapped into the backseat, the cold of the night already creeping up his calves.  
  
"Call me when you get to Moscow." Eli leans against the car and sighs deeply. "And if anything happens to him, Ocelot, I _will_ find you and I will skin you alive."  
  
"That's adorable, but I fear we're already past that stage, aren't we?"  
  
"...he'll be alright, right?"  
  
Ocelot waves him off dismissively. "Mantis is tougher than he looks. Besides, I thought by now you would've come to trust my judgement with him."  
  
Not dignifying him with a reply, Eli stands by the open car door, waiting until Ocelot gets behind the wheel, then pokes his head in and grips Mantis' shoulder so hard that it hurts.  
  
"Promise me you'll listen to him...." He whispers and Mantis grimaces when his mask is strapped roughly onto his face. "I'll write to you. I–"  
  
"Eli..." Mantis breathes.  
  
"...I'll see you again."  
  
With that Eli steps back, closes the door and watches them drive off.  
  
Mantis cranes his neck to watch him become smaller and smaller in the distance, the tint of his mask lenses unforgiving in the dark, leaving Eli blurred out soon enough.  
  
For a while, he does not do anything, just keeps staring down the roads, the freezing desert. It does not take long for his mind to disconnect from Eli's - a gentle fadeout. Somehow it is relief and burden at once to lose that feral, precious thing. 

Ocelot's is calm instead, collected, suspiciously barren. 

It is comfortable.  
  
"You should get some sleep." The old man says in Russian and throws his duster jacket at him. "I'll wake you up when we arrive at the airport."  
  
Silently, Mantis pulls the duster up to his chin. It is warm and smells familiar. He enjoys that. 

"Ocelot, I'm in pain." He says to test the waters while clutching his side and flexing his fingers, uncomfortable by how the seatbelt constricts his mobility. 

"I know, but you've had plenty already. I'll give you more later. Sleep now."

Upset, Mantis buries himself against his seat's backrest and digs deeply into Ocelot's head, not bothering to go unnoticed in his search for a little relief, a little composure.   
  


* * *

  
"Time to get up, the plane is about to start boarding." 

Mantis blinks and hisses when he is unwrapped from the comfort of the backseat, Ocelot making him sit up properly and helping him get the duster around his shoulders. 

"... where are we going?" 

"Moscow. It's been a while for you, hasn't it?" 

"Last time I was there I still was a depressed teenager." He mumbles sourly. 

"Well, congratulations. Now you're a psychotic adult."

Too tired to snap at Ocelot for the comment, he greedily accepts what little medication the old man grants him before strapping his mask back on and gets out of the car on shaking legs. He barely notes being guided through the gates, trying to ignore the aching pulse between his ears that is amplified by the airport's humble buzzing of business travelers and foreign diplomats.  
  
"Ocelot-" He tries but is shushed when he finds himself getting strapped into his plane seat, watching blearily as the flight attendants give their safety presentation.  
  
"The antibiotics and painkillers should kick in soon, get some rest." Ocelot is next to him and, slightly panicked in his dissociation, Mantis grabs his arm. "Ah, if you get sick they have paper bags for that."  
  
"But I need- These meds don't work for me, please..."  
  
"I gave you some meperidine. I'm not going to have you quit cold turkey, even though you definitely deserve it."  
  
Mantis whimpers sulkily, anxiously digging his fingers into Ocelot's skin as they depart.  
  


* * *

  
It is not easy to always follow Eli's thoughts and actions - his angry, resentful emotions always fill the other child with a healthy mixture of excitement and apprehension. But their fragile and somewhat unwanted connection is what has kept them both alive, despite their clashing personalities and frequent arguments (with Eli hurling insults and big words at him, that he just does not care to even attempt to understand) they somehow manage to get along well enough to leave a trail of mischief and petty crime in their travels. 

The child likes that. He does not particularly care for other people, justifying this by having been wronged too many times, being hurt by those individuals who were supposed to protect him in his most vulnerable moments, but that does not mean he does not feel guilt about the things he does. Most of the time, at least. 

Eli is terrifyingly smart though, despite being quite unwilling to put himself in the other's shoes to understand him better - their language barrier making it even harder - he still picks up on subtle things which make the child question his very own abilities. 

And English is an odd language, the child has a hard time getting the pronunciation right. In the beginning he even struggled with Eli's name, often getting scolded for resorting to using _Ilya,_ which rolls off the tongue much more naturally. 

"Are you done?" Eli asks from up ahead, not bothering to even look over his shoulder. "We need to get going unless you want to spend the night in an open field." 

The child does not know with whom the annoyance lingering between them originated, but he still pouts behind his mask, fingers digging into the grass and soil beneath him. 

_Many._ He thinks and pushes his view of various flowers and insects into Eli's mind, pointedly aware of the disinterest in what excites him so. _Look, Eli. Many_.

"'s just bugs." Eli grumbles but does in fact turn around and walks back to where the child is carefully watching the meadow's bustling fauna. 

_Bugs._ _  
__  
_They watch as a particularly adventurous beetle makes its way up the child's pale hand and eventually disappears into his sleeve.

Stunned, eyes wide behind his mask he looks up at Eli helplessly. 

"... what? Shake it out if you think it's gross, then." 

_No!_ As gently as possible he lifts his sleeve and guides the beetle back into the flowers. _I like bug._ _  
__  
_"You like _the_ bug." Eli corrects him and finally crouches down as well. "You can't just directly refer to a noun without using an article."  
  
Unable to fully parse that information the child just shrugs, far more entranced by the insects and plants than any language lesson. _What's this?_ he thinks and points at one of the tall white flowers. _What flower?_ _  
__  
_"Oh, that's a poppy." Eli pauses, worrying his lip. "Come on, we can do more words later."  
  
 _Poppy._ He thinks confidently. _Like mák. Mák is tasty._

Frowning, Eli picks the flower, prompting a gasp from him. "I don't think you should eat these..."  
  
 _Yes, eat._ With that the child stubbornly projects images of plenty of baked goods into Eli's head; little cakes decorated with poppyseed, pastries and breads blackened by their plentiful fillings. 

"Oh, the seeds? Well... I suppose you can-" Eli is interrupted by the other suddenly exclaiming in excitement, shaking hands pointing down at the grass.  
  
Curious, they observe a tiny, green creature brutally clawing into the little beetle that had been crawling on the child's hand just moments ago, ripping it apart with its imposing mandibles, while gripping it tightly between its claw-like legs.  
  
 _Big._ The child thinks, impressed by the comparative size of the predator, briefly noting a pang of pity for the cute, little beetle that has found its sudden end at the hands of such a powerful being. Still, he is more fascinated with the killer - admiring the coldblooded strength and sudden aggression he finds in the usually calm animal.  
  
"What a beast..." Eli notes, clearly stupified by the violent display. "I didn't even see it before it moved in for the kill, must be a real good hunter."  
  
 _Eli, what's this? Bug?_

"Er, yeah. It's a praying mantis, I think. See, its legs make it seem like it's praying. Like in a church." He folds his hands together in demonstration, then looks up at the child imitating his gesture - fingers bumping against the filter of the mask - and has to stifle a laugh.  
  
He is met with a questioning nudge against his mind.  
  
"Oh," Eli rubs his neck sheepishly. "I was just thinking how you look a little like it when you do that, especially when your sleeves are hanging down like that."

The child stares at the bug, then at his sleeves. _Mantis._ He thinks and smiles behind his mask. _Mantis.  
_  
Eli grins. "Yeah. Mantis."

The poppies sway gently with the wind, paving their way, as they finally make it out of the fields, the afternoon sun burning on their backs.  
  


* * *

  
The Hotel Metropol in Moscow is warm and comfortable, though Mantis is not exactly sure how Ocelot can pay for the five star suite. Maybe he is already draining one of Mantis' own bank accounts, though he finds himself too feverish and on edge to bother.  
  
He has been bathed - had his wounds cared for with antibiotic ointment - and now he is comfortably nestled into a bathrobe, safely wrapped into multiple duvets on the biggest bed he has ever slept in.  
  
"What do you want to eat?" Ocelot asks from where he's sitting on the couch, fussing around with little mountains of indecipherable documents. "You should probably pick something you actually enjoy this time, I'd hate to call in that poor maid again to clean up another vomit-soaked sheet."  
  
".... I want borscht."  
  
"Of course. You like a lot of _smetana_ , don't you?"  
  
Mantis picks at his bandages under the blankets. "... yes."  
  
Surprisingly, he does not get sick again. The nostalgic, earthy flavour and warmth in his stomach make him drowsy though, and despite having slept for most of the day he drifts off once more.  
  
Occasionally Ocelot checks his temperature, and far, far away Mantis numbly wonders when the old man is going to leave. It seems uncharacteristic for him to stay so long.  
  
"Eli-" He hears himself whisper when pills are pressed against his lips, sweet sticky fluid running down the side of his jaw. Perhaps he feels a little resentful, possibly disappointed and angry. Though he is not sure at whom in particular. Still, it is easier to redirect his dismay at Ocelot who refuses to give him more meperidine after a while, pointing out that Mantis is doing fine with just the antibiotics and non-opioid painkillers by now.  
  
He does not feel fine. He feels fucking terrible, like his limbs are turning into liquid, his nose runny. Despite barely consciously taking in anything happening around him he can not find sleep anymore, glaring at the ceiling, at Ocelot - who occasionally fades away, his mind flighty and distant. Only then, in those moments, Wilson visits, though Mantis does not have it in him to get agitated over that, since the man keeps his usual taunting and mockery down to a minimum. All he does is watch him from the corners of the room, his perverse voyeurism creeping up Mantis' neck.  
  
At some point he cries in his silent agony, the rejection of his own body.  
  
"You're such a child." Ocelot scolds him, not bothering up from his book.  
  
"What if I made a mistake?" Mantis tries to sit up, to focus his eyes. "I shouldn't have left Eli alone..."  
  
"That boy's not everything."  
  
"...fucking hypocrite." He mumbles under his breath.  
  
He does not get a reply. Days pass, maybe hours at best. He eats, he sleeps, goes to the bathroom, gets his bandages changed.  
  
Somehow the promised relief never finds him.  
  
But then he wakes up and watches in horror as a figure cuts at his leg with scissors and tweezers, ripping out the threads holding his flesh together.  
  
"Relax," Ocelot tells him and dabs his thigh with some more ointment. "I'm getting rid of your stitches. We don't want all of you to end up looking like Frankenstein."  
  
Lips dry, Mantis protests. "That's not- that's the scientist...."  
  
"Oh, I didn't know that." Ocelot smiles at him, the obvious lie glowing in his face. Mantis feels stupid for falling for it, though he supposes it is only to rile him up, keep him on his feet.  
  
The rough yet gentle touches against his bare skin drive him back into forbidden memories, his traitorous mind only encouraged by the drugs in his system.  
  
"...tati, kam jdeš?" He reaches up to pull at Ocelot's shirt when he moves away. "...tatínku?"  
  
Ignored, Mantis grimaces when a fresh bandage gets wrapped around his leg tightly.  
  
"This might hurt a little more, so hold still."  
  
The bathrobe is opened and he squints up at Ocelot who starts working on the injury on his side.  
  
"...tati, co děláš? Tati proč? Nech mě bejt...."  
  
The cold scissors gliding over raw skin make his hammering pulse jump into his throat. Ocelot is careful, but he is so close that Mantis feels himself shrinking away, being swallowed by that terrifyingly comforting presence.  
  
He gasps hard, eyes wide as he struggles against the attention. "Nešahej na mě! Tati proč to dělaj? Podívej se na mě!"  
  
"You know, I don't havethe slightest idea what you are saying." Ocelot sighs and removes the last stitches with a pair of tweezers. "Speak properly if you want something."  
  
Mantis tries to search for another lie, dives into the old man's dismissive mind, only to retreat utterly devastated by finding nothing but the truth.  
  
"...proč se o mě nestaráš?" He cries. "Ty mě nemáš rád? Tatínku!"  
  
"There we go, all done." Humming, Ocelot smoothes down the bandage and ties the robe closed around Mantis' waist. If his touch happens to linger neither of them notice. "What are you crying about now? You're healing up just fine."  
  
"My-" He stops himself in time. "... Eli."  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"..." Mantis is grateful for the blanket being drawn up to his chin, he hides his face, trying to reach for his mask, but unable to quite get to it. They sit in silence for a while.  
  
"I can't stay for much longer." Ocelot eventually starts. "As much as I enjoy the hotel service, I do have important business to attend."  
  
"... please don't go. If I can't help Eli maybe I can help you."  
  
"Mantis," Ocelot leans closer. "You have a choice now. There is nobody to order you around anymore, you can do whatever you like."  
  
"But I want-"  
  
" _You_ want? Really? Maybe you should finally start using your abilities for yourself, don't you agree? Start your own life and stop leeching off of others."  
  
Mantis aches to push him off, bash in his skull, take him apart systematically - he doesn't though. Instead he lets Ocelot brush his unruly curls out of his face, even leaning into the touch, sticky tears meeting red leather gloves.  
  
By nightfall he is all alone again, stumbling out of bed while leaning on his crutch to get to the wooden dresser that the bag with the medicine has been left on.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> малышонок, malyshonok = baby (boy) 
> 
> czech translations in order of appearance (big thank you to my everle who helped me out big time <3)
> 
> mák = poppy, poppyseed  
> tati = diminutive of father  
> tatínku = basically a diminutive of the diminutive, it gets lost in translation and theres no way im having anyone call revolver ocelot "daddy" in english
> 
> Tati, kam jdeš? Tatínku? = Father, where are you going? Father?  
> Tati, co děláš? Tati proč? Nech mě bejt. = What are you doing, father? Why, father? Leave me be.  
> Nešahej na mě. Tati proč to dělaj? Podívej se na mě. = Don't touch me. Father, why are they doing this? Look at me.  
> Proč se o mě nestaráš? Ty mě nemáš rád? Tatínku! = Why won't you care about me? You don't love me? Father!

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to comment and leave kudos, feedback really pushes me to work faster on fic 0:) ty


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